


basically just technoblade angst I have no good title

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Author Projecting onto Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Self-Harm, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Suicide Attempt, Technoblade Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Has ADHD (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), What Have I Done, dont worry i hate myself too, much sadness ahead, pls cry or I have failed /j, techno's chat is in this, technovoices, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:06:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: If you've found this somehow from my main acc, please do not read. There's a reason this is posted in the anonymous collection.//Technoblade uses unhealthy coping mechanisms. Please read tags for triggers!
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Phil Watson & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 180
Collections: Anonymous





	basically just technoblade angst I have no good title

**Author's Note:**

> may or may not have abandoned? im not sure yet I am so sorry

Technoblade looks up when the door bangs open and sees Wilbur standing in the doorway, staring at him.

“Phil says to come down for dinner.” Wilbur says.

Techno scowls and checks the clock. “It’s only eight. Besides, I have homework.” It was already Sunday, and he had to finish studying for his algebra test.

“Phil said to tell you to do it after. He wants us all to eat together like a family or something.”

Sighing in defeat, Techno stands up from his desk. He marks the page of his textbook and follows Wilbur out of his room, closing the door behind him.

When he gets downstairs, Tommy is and Phil are waiting at the table. Wilbur flops into his chair, immediately going for the food carefully arranged in the center of the table. Techno sits down as well, pouring himself a cup of water.

Wilbur passes a bowl of rice to Techno, who robotically places some on his plate. Being the gremlin he is, Tommy snatches the bowl from him as soon as Techno finished taking one.

He puts his spoon in the rice, about to lift a bite to his mouth.

_ Seriously? You’re not even hungry. _

_ Why are you eating? _

_ Fatso. _

_ Put that down. _

_ You had lunch just four hours ago. _

Techno freezes, dropping his spoon.

“You good, Tech?” Phil asks, looking slightly amused.

“Yeah, uh, sorry. That was an accident.” Techno mumbles, picking up the utensil. He stares at the food on his plate. It looks so innocent, but Techno isn’t fooled.

He plays around with his food for the rest of dinner, shoving it around his plate. Tommy tells them about a project he’s working on with Tubbo, but Techno’s only half listening. He knows he seems out of it, even more disconnected than usual.

And the worst part is, no one notices.

So about fifteen minutes later, when Tommy’s done with his story, Techno quietly stands up and asks to be excused.

Phil nods at Techno, who promptly rushes to the kitchen. He checks to make sure no one can see, then carefully scrapes all his food to the bottom of the trash can. In panic of being found out, Techno crumples a few paper towels and arranges them in the trash to cover the food.

He hears footsteps coming into the kitchen and quickly pretends to be washing the dishes.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Phil says from behind him. “You can go do your homework.”

“Okay.” Techno puts the plate he’d been washing in the sink, and rinses his hands.

Phil gives him a cheery smile. “Thanks, though!”

Technoblade nods, hurrying past his dad with his head hanging to his room. As soon as he gets in, he lets out a breath.

But as soon as the relief came, it was replaced by self-loathing.

_ At least you didn’t eat. Can’t believe you were about to. _

_ Do your homework. _

_ Failure. _

_ I hate you. _

Techno lets out a shuddering breath, laughing bitterly.  _ Don’t worry, I hate me too. _

He sits back down at his desk and flips open his textbook. Stares at it blankly for a few seconds before picking up a pen to start annotating.

Techno annotates and highlights and takes notes for what feels like, maximum, thirty minutes.

When his eyes start to burn, he finally looks up and sees the time.

_ Oh. _ It was already 12pm. Technoblade closes his textbook, placing it in his school backpack alongside the materials for his other classes.

Yawning, Techno stumbles into his bathroom. He puts the light on the lowest setting, squinting at himself in the mirror.

To put it lightly, he looked like shit.

Technoblade changes into pajamas and braids back his pink hair. He’d been growing it out, and it was already far past his shoulders.

He turns off his bathroom lights with a soft  _ click _ . Yawns again, stumbles into bed and pulls the blankets up to his chin.

Buried under blankets and hiding in the dark, the voices only get louder.

_ You’re going to fail the test tomorrow. _

_ You didn’t study enough. _

_ Who said you could sleep? _

_ Still fat, I see. _

_ Whatever. Just sleep and be a failure tomorrow, like you always are. _

_ Maybe you should just die. Then Phil wouldn’t have to worry about you. _

_ He doesn’t know now, but one day he’ll find out. _

_ He’ll hate you. He’ll throw you out, and rightfully so. _

Technoblade shuts his eyes tightly, hands drifting subconsciously up to his ears like they could block out the noise inside his head.  _ Just let me sleep. _ He thinks desperately.  _ I promise I’ll be better tomorrow. _

It doesn’t work. The voices scoff at him, falling him fat and ugly and stupid.

What’s worse is he knows that all of it is true. Technoblade bites the inside of his mouth until a metallic liquid floods his mouth.

It stings, but Technoblade deserves it. He bites harder.

_ That’s right. _

_ At this point, just get a razor or something. _

_ Fucking idiot. _

_ Weak. _

_ That’s right, keep hurting yourself. You’ll just make Phil feel worse. _

Oh. Technoblade stops, poking his tongue gingerly in the raw wound in his mouth. Mouth cuts are the worst.  _ But you deserve it. _

Phil wouldn’t be happy. Maybe he should stop.

_ No no, keep going. _

_ Don’t stop. It feels good, doesn’t it? _

As much as Technoblade hated to admit it, he relished in the stinging pain. But he stops, gets out of bed and washes the blood out of his mouth with water from the sink.

Slipping back into bed, Techno turns over and hums a song to himself. He doesn’t know what song it is, but the repetitive tune calms him.

Or it calms the voices, but that’s more important.

After a while, Techno feels himself drifting away. It was probably almost 1am by now, but that’s more hours of sleep than he usually gets.

Before he falls asleep, he thinks to himself.  _ Tomorrow will be better. _

Tomorrow he can distract himself with school. Tomorrow  _ has  _ to be better. Right?

Wrong.

  
  



End file.
